At the Bottom of Everything
by liadela
Summary: "It used to be them against the world." Michael visits Kristina after a fight and things don't go how he planned. One-shot. Michael/Kristina


Michael hesitates at the door of the lake house, forgetting why he thought this was a good idea. He can see Kristina through the glass, sitting on the sofa in her pajamas and ignoring the books laid out in front of her. He wonders if she's thinking about their fight; he's been thinking about since she stormed out of the loft this afternoon.

He turns from the door and sighs. The image of her standing in the loft, eyes glistening with unshed tears and bottom lip quivering, has been torturing him since she left. But now, standing here, he wonders if he should wait and think this through first. He doesn't want to start another fight but he desperately wants to talk to her, make her understand why he got so angry and apologize. It was just that by the time she arrived he had already been visited by a parade of people trying to tell him what to do. She was just unlucky enough to be last and he snapped at her.

If he's honest though, it frustrates him even more when she tries than when everyone else does. He expects it from his parents, Jason, and Dante. But her – it used to be them against the world. He misses those days. They used to be able to talk about anything but now every conversation ends the same way. More than anything he wants her back on his side, but he's afraid if he pushes her again so soon it might make things even worse. Luckily, she makes the decision for him.

When he glances back at the door, she's standing on the other side, watching him. He blinks in surprise, frozen for a moment. She continues to stare so he raises his hand in a small wave. She rolls her eyes but opens the door for him.

He notices immediately that she does not invite him in, but stands in the doorway, blocking him. "Can I come in?"

"I'm kind of busy right now," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Kristina, we need to talk."

"You made yourself perfectly clear earlier. What's there to talk about?"

"It's important." She doesn't budge. "Please."

She stares at him for a long moment. "Fine," she says.

She turns, leaving the door open for him, and walks back to the sofa. She sits, wrapping a blanket around herself. He sits next to her awkwardly, unsure where to start. He waits for her to look at him but she doesn't. She keeps her head down and picks imaginary lint off the blanket instead.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he says, turning toward her. He sees her glance at him out of the corner of her eye. At least he has her attention. "I'm not really angry with you. I'm just sick of everyone telling me what to do. My Mom. Jason. Dante. You."

She lifts her head and looks at him. "No one wants you to get hurt."

"I know. I know you want to protect me but you've got to let me make my own decisions. If I make a mistake, I make a mistake." He pauses and shakes his head. "You can't always stop bad things from happening to the people you love."

"I know," she says sullenly.

"I need you to trust me. And I want you to listen to me when I tell you I'm not making a mistake, not with Abby."

She studies him closely. "You really like her?" she asks.

"Yeah, I do. She's great and I know if you gave her a -" He notices her eyes begin to narrow. "Just stop trying to chase her off, ok?"

She nods though she still looks unhappy. She leans back against the sofa, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. He waits for her to say something but she doesn't. He's not used to her being this quiet, and it worries him. Something he can't identify flickers through her eyes and he thinks she wants to say something, but she stays silent. It bothers him not knowing what she's thinking; it's not a problem he usually has with her. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and vaguely wonders if she's just waiting for him to leave.

He clears his throat and stands. "It's getting late. I'll see you tomorrow." He takes only a few steps when he hears her.

"Michael?"

The soft catch in her voice is enough to make his chest tighten and his head pound. He stops dead in his tracks and turns to look at her over his shoulder, reluctant to face her directly.

She stands, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders, and closes the short distance between them. He clenches his jaw and drops his head forward at the feel of her small hand on his back, encouraging him to turn around.

"Look at me."

He takes a deep breath and relents, slowly turning to face her. Finally looking at her, he has to fight the urge to run.

Her eyes are dark and cloudy and they reflect feelings he tried to convince himself were merely the product of a damaged brain's imagination. Feelings he pushed down deep inside him and thought he had done a better job at hiding. His mind races trying to figure out how she knows. He frantically searches through memories, wondering which hugs or glances lingered too long and gave him away.

She raises her hand slowly toward his face and his breathing changes, becomes shallow, as he anticipates her touch. But she seems to change her mind and drops her hand to grab his jacket instead, fisting the material tightly. He feels his face heat up and he wants to look away, embarrassed.

She tilts her head and tugs lightly on his jacket, forcing him to lean closer to her. "Stay?" she whispers.

_She knows what she's doing. _The thought makes him resentful. It makes him want to leave and prove her wrong. But his heart is weak when it comes to her, when it comes to this, and she knows it. So instead, he nods helplessly.

She smiles for the first time that night, a small, satisfied smile as she takes his hand and leads him back to the sofa. He picks up the blanket and wraps it around her once more. They settle into the sofa and he holds her.

He's not sure how much time passes; he tries not to think, to focus instead on the rhythmic thud of his heart and the crickets chirping outside. He knows he'll have to think about what happened and why it happened, but not now, not with her in his arms. He can feel her relaxing, her face nuzzling his chest as she snuggles closer, yawning.

"Krissy, you're falling asleep. Maybe I should go." He moves slightly, planning to start the process of untangling Kristina from him.

"Do you have to?" she asks, tightening her arm around his waist.

He thinks about the consequences of staying, like the guilty conscience and the knot in his stomach. He thinks about Abby and his promise to go see her as soon as he talked to his sister. He thinks about what will happen if Alexis or Molly walks in. He thinks about what this will mean for tomorrow and every day after.

"No," he says, closing his eyes to it all and settling further into the sofa with her.


End file.
